


Somewhere Between The Stars & The Sky

by clockworkrobots



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Character Study, First Kiss, M/M, Past Character Death, Poe Dameron Is Gay, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: Poe keeps trying to tell himself to stop being so selfishly happy and grateful that at leastFinnwas safe, because he shouldn’t play favourites, and he certainly shouldn’t be such a fool as to fall for anyone in the midst of war.But, well, hewasa fool, if the events of the last few days were anything to go by, and if his stuttering, gay heart had anything to say about it.





	Somewhere Between The Stars & The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> You know you've finally fallen down the rabbit hole of a ship when you start writing fanfic. What can I say, the gayer these two get the more they speak to me.
> 
> Needless to say you probably want to have seen _The Last Jedi_ before reading this!

 

 

They'd had ten days before the First Order found them on D'Qar.  
  
In hindsight, it felt like it had been an age, or at least an outrageous novelty, having so many consecutive days with relative peace. But at the time everything had seemed to be moving so _fast_. After the return from Starkiller, between rushing Finn to the infirmary and all the debriefings and maintenance checks and repairs to be catalogued and seen to, Poe hadn't even gotten a chance to really sit down and _breathe_ until a good 36 hours after he'd first strapped into his X-wing to go blow up a planet. He'd been dead on his feet—even the General, consummate workaholic that she was, had begged off for some rest. Poe supposed the mix of grief for both her estranged husband and all the crew she'd lost under her command must have weighed heavy on her shoulders that day, and heavier still, the sorrow that her own son was responsible for it.  
  
Not that any day was easy for them, _stars_ no, but some days were... _smoother_ than others. Less messy. Before he'd embarked on his long mission to find Lor San Tekka, some days had been _boring_ even, at least by Poe's naturally restless standards. But ever since that fateful mission, since meeting Finn (being _saved_ by him), Poe had felt like his heart hadn't once stopped beating a thousand parsecs a minute. Part of that, of course, was that particular brand of adrenaline only straddling the line between life and death can give you, but Poe also knew himself. He knew what it meant when he looked at Finn, and his face heated up and threatened to break his cheeks apart with the yearning, desperate urge to smile widely. He knew what it meant, when his fingers twitched to grasp Finn's hand. Poe was a fool about many things (General Organa's educated him on one or two), but not this. Never something so important.  
  
For awhile there, Poe will admit he'd stopped believing there were any truly good people left in the galaxy. Oh, that wasn't a statement on anyone he knew in the resistance, but Poe was _one of them_ —he knew intimately all the compromises they were forced to make, all destruction they'd both wrought and suffered. No one in the resistance was untarnished by war, and no one unchanged by it. That was why they were all there after all, right? To bring an end to the violence they'd all lived with for so long? To make way for a true, equitable world of peace? Poe was no nihilist, nor even a cynic: he believed there was the potential for good in people. He _had_ to. He believed in good intentions and good deeds and most of all, good odds. But those didn't always mean much in the chaos of war, and few were the people Poe had ever known who could remain truly unchanged in the face of that burdensome truth.  
  
_Finn_ though, Finn was one.

Poe didn't maintain any personal pedestals, but even in the relatively brief amount of time Poe had known Finn, he'd proved to him that hope in the galaxy was still worth having. Finn had been raised and brainwashed since his earliest years to be a pawn of the First Order. He'd known no other life except the insidious cruelty of fascist dictum, and yet when the time came to choose between what was right and what was easy, Finn chose the _light_. He chose to be _good_. He'd abandoned the only life he'd ever known just to save a stranger. " _Because it's the right thing to do,"_ he'd said, with such resolute certainty that part of Poe's heart was stolen right then and there.  
  
Adrenaline had been searing through him, racing the residual pain from Kylo Ren's torture, mixing with it to create a delirious concoction of anxious energy. His nerves had been on fire, strained from the dark poison of Ren's mental intrusions, singing from the relief of being released. His temples had still ached with the impatient pressure of a favoured son gone mad. And then there’d been _Finn_ , glorious and gentle and quick on the gun.

And after everything that had happened since, Poe still remembers that, the look on Finn’s face when Poe had grinned and said _“We’re gonna do this.”_

He remembers the _hope._

And so that’s what he’d clung to, as he took a well-earned respite at Finn’s bed-side with his old, well-worn jacket draped over his lap, and started stitching. 

It was his grandfather that had taught him to sew. 

Even after his mom had died and his father came home for good, it was still his _abuelo_ who’d sat with him on rainy days (which were many among the humid climate of Yavin’s fourth and best moon), and taught him how to repair his favourite breeches, or how to recycle old leather into a new saddle bag. They’d lived on a fairly remote ranch, even for Yavin’s sparse population standards, and sometimes it was just easier to make one’s own clothing. On days when Poe couldn’t be flying, it was the best way to keep his restless hands busy. Threading a thin strand through the eye of a needle was a bit like flying, in its way: it required precision and focus, and a steadiness under pressure to keep one’s frustrations at bay. Of course, the worst that could happen if you failed a stitch was that your garment was either ruined or delayed. With flying, you ended up dead. But still, the delicacy of the art was similar, and when done well the outcome the same: Poe felt his soul (always jumping, always vibrating to be boundless and untethered) finally rest.

Among the bubble and bustle of those first few days after Starkiller, repairing Finn’s jacket had been really the only thing that kept him sane, kept him grounded. He didn’t slack in his duties, nor in his friendships—many of which felt the horrible pangs of mutual friends no longer with them—but he did feel… outside himself. Like a part of him was still hovering over that frozen planet, or clutched within Kylo Ren’s gloved grasp. It wasn’t unusual for a pilot to disassociate after a firefight—he knew this both first hand and from the seminars they made him take at the Republic’s naval academy. Even if your company losses were few, the adrenaline drop between the heat of battle and the silence after was stark and unsteadying even for the most seasoned veterans.

He’d also known Finn would wake up soon. The doctors had assured him of this, and so the relief of knowing Finn had not only _survived_ but was, all in all, going to be _okay_ , had been overwhelming in its wash of realisation over him. There was some anxiety, to be sure—that never ebbed when people Poe cared about were concerned—but he wasn’t commander of the Resistance fleet for nothing. He knew how to manage. And for Finn—for Finn that meant fixing his jacket.

Poe hadn’t been lying when he said Finn looked good in it, though he was fairly certain Finn would look good in _anything_. But his desire to save this for Finn was more than that. Finn had rebelled and escaped the First Order’s clutches only to find himself among a strained and strapped Resistance that had little to offer any of its officers other than the promise they were doing something good. There wasn’t really any pay to speak of, beyond some shore leave allowance that they never had any time to use, and certainly their facilities, while adequate for the purposes of guerrilla warfare, were probably a step down from the shiny, clean surfaces of a Star Destroyer. Not that Poe imagined Finn to be superficial or judgmental about any of that, but the kid literally had nothing to his name in the whole galaxy.

Except this jacket.

And maybe it hadn’t meant the same thing to him, but it meant something to _Poe_ to be able to give Finn something, something that said he _belonged_ here, that he was accepted. That he was appreciated and, well, _loved_. He deserved far more than Poe could ever give him for everything he’d done, and he’d desperately wished they had the time and peace to travel the stars together. He’d show Finn the endless lights of Coruscant, and the radiant gardens of Naboo, and most important of all: _Yavin_. He’d show Finn home.

But that would probably never be anything more than a fantasy. Poe couldn’t pretend he knew if even _he’d_ survive this war, but he’d do his damnedest to make sure Finn did, to make sure the best of them endured. And he’d make sure that for now, Finn could have this jacket, and continue saving the world looking damn fine indeed.

 

 

***

 

  
Ten days later, of course, those stolen moments in the infirmary almost seemed like a mass hallucination. Hell, most of the people Poe talked to during that week and a half were gone now, murdered by the First Order. It was an end they all tried to mentally prepare for, in their line of work, but such a brutal loss to happen all at once made Poe’s throat close up with a stringent mixture of grief and guilt. Not all of those losses had been his fault, he knows intellectually, but some _were_ , and that didn’t stop him from feeling the blame for every single soul not with them on the Falcon as they jumped away to safety.

His friends. His comrades. People that had saved _his_ life time and time again. And he’d failed them.

It was these bitter thoughts that swam about his head as he watched Finn at Rose Tico’s bed side.

He’d known Rose’s sister, for instance. Paige Tico had been not only a fine pilot but a fine woman, brave and clever and _funny_ —Poe had always enjoyed sitting next to her in the mess to hear her stories of growing up in the Outer Rim. Her childhood had been rough, he knew, and that only fuelled his anger at the First Order as much as he could see it fuelled hers and her sisters. But she had such a way of making even the bleakest situations seem absurdly hilarious after a few drinks and a good meal. It was a twisted sense of humour, in that sense, but it was something they all needed. That they _still_ needed.

Paige deserved to be alive with them today, and Poe felt his chest tighten every time he remembered that the reason she wasn’t was because of him. He doesn’t know how he’ll face her sister when she wakes up, but then again, he doesn’t even know how to face _himself_ right now, let alone anyone else. He’s glad the Falcon is rough and unkempt enough that he’s unlikely to catch his reflection on any dusty grey surface.

Though relief permeates the corridors of the Falcon, there’s a pervasive _exhaustion_ among them too, and a grief so palpable it threatens to compromise their oxygen supply with the suffocating weight of it. Poe feels it, and he can see it in the faces of his friends and compatriots around him after the initial celebratory hugs and handshakes had given way to sagging shoulders and stricken faces. They pass him in the tight corridors and can barely look him in the eye.

He doesn’t blame them.

There is, however, one person who doesn’t seem to be looking at him with an unbearable mix of pity and fear.

Poe keeps trying to tell himself to stop being so selfishly happy and grateful that at least _Finn_ was safe, because he _shouldn’t_ play favourites, and he _certainly_ shouldn’t be such a fool as to fall for anyone in the midst of war.

But, well, he _was_ a fool, if the events of the last few days were anything to go by, and if his stuttering, gay heart had anything to say about it.

As if overhearing his train of thought, Finn looks up then, catching Poe’s eye. His eyes speak of feeling lost and bewildered, as the excitement of their escape had slowly given way to shock and unease. Poe’s heart reaches out to him, propelling him to step forward, and join his friend at his vigil.

“She’ll be okay,” Poe offers, because he knows it’s what he should say, but inwardly he winces at how rote and hollow that sounds. He _has_ to believe it, though, and he wants to reassure Finn to believe it, too.

“Yeah,” Finn says, looking down at his unconscious friend, letting his hand fall from where it had been clasping hers. His voice is as rough and weary as Poe, too, feels.

Poe’s hand _wants_ to move to take Finn’s where it has fallen, empty at his side, but he quickly stamps down the urge. He senses Finn is a tactile person as much as he himself is, but he doesn’t know if Poe’s hand is the one he wants to hold right now. He’s trying to learn to be less forward, after all. Less impulsive. He’s trying to learn to breathe.

“We’ll be past Hutt Space soon enough, and then we’ll be home free,” he says, trying to sound light and confident. In truth, they don’t know if the First Order _isn’t_ tracking them still, nor who out in these parts can really be seen as an ally or not. Wherever they land, Poe thinks, they’ll have to be careful and lay low. 

Finn nods, but Poe can tell he’s not really listening. A thousand thoughts must be running through his head, and something just as urgent in Poe yearns to hold that head between his hands to steady both of them.

“She saved my life,” Finn says suddenly, with unmasked wonder. “I’ve known her for a day and she still saved my life.”

Poe’s mouth quirks up in a smile. Finn truly has no idea, does he? What kind of devotion he so easily pulls out of people? Poe remembers looking at Finn in the cave on Crait, just before they went out to meet the cannon. He remembers, standing in the shadow of towering rust, how his chest had filled up with awe and admiration at Finn’s resilient bid for hope and salvation. In that moment, Poe knew he would follow Finn anywhere.

“Well, I know a guy who saved _my_ life after knowing me for thirty seconds, so I’m not surprised he inspires that kind of loyalty,” he says, nudging Finn with his shoulder.

“That was different,” Finn shakes his head, refusing to believe such a compliment. “That was—”

“The best damn luck I’ve ever had?”

Finn sets his shoulders. “Just the right thing to do.”

“And thank the stars you were brave enough to do it, because most people wouldn’t be,” Poe points out, determined to make his friend see how very much he is worthy. “You’re a good man, Finn, and you deserve to be saved, too.”

“I don’t know about that,” Finn says quietly, frowning.

Poe truly knows the feeling of such worthlessness: it seers through his own veins right now. But as few of their band of rebels that survived the assaults on D’Qar and Crait, _all_ of their crew were the best examples of life left in the galaxy. They were the spark, after all, and even a spark burned bright.

“Well, _I_ do,” Poe presses, because he needs Finn to understand this. Maybe it’s selfish of him, ultimately, but Poe never claimed to be a good man himself.  “Hell, it’s maybe the only thing I know for sure anymore,” he says, and though part of him mourns the loss of that certainty in life that used to be part of his cocky approach to everything, another welcomes the humbling. The memories of all those he lost deserve that from him, at the very least.  

Finn shakes his head, and looks away, as if ashamed.  He moves to the side, to lean against the bulkhead beside Rose’s bed, just out of earshot to avoid accidentally waking her up from what surely is much needed recuperation. He crosses his arms and then, voice low and heavy with regret, says, “I was running away.”

Which doesn’t make any sense at all.

“What?”

“I was running away, when Rose found me. Just after we realised we were being tracked,” Finn explains, still not looking Poe in the eye. “I was trying to steal an escape pod and go find Rey.”

Poe is quiet for a moment, considering.

He’s both surprised and not. There’s an initial twinge of shock and betrayal, but it fizzles away quickly when he realises this is exactly as reckless a move as _he_ pulled when staging a failed mutiny. They were both just trying to do the right thing, even if they were both decisions clouded by adrenaline and desperation.

And he also remembers when Finn came to him, Rose at his side, and told him their plan to save them. Finn may have thought he was running away, but all Poe saw was Finn running towards him, _trusting_ him with Rey’s binary beacon. _That_ had been his final choice, to give to Poe the one thing Finn held most dear in that moment, to give him the promise that he would return.

Poe steps slowly to stand next to Finn, and leans gently against the wall beside him. They’re nearly touching, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, but not quite. Poe will let Finn make that choice, when the time comes. If it comes.

“Well, Rey found you in the end, so I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says gently, sending a silent thanks out to the universe for her perfectly timed homecoming. Poe had never seen the Force at work up close until Jakku and Kylo Ren, and then it had been only pain and darkness. It was something else to witness it at work in their rescue, to actually witness what the Jedi were _supposed_ to be. Suddenly all the old stories had come to life in the form of a girl from the middle of nowhere, and Poe could scarcely remember a time when he’d been more speechless in his life.

Well, maybe when Leia had slapped him. 

“No, you don’t understand, Poe,” Finn turns, pulling Poe out of his thoughts. Finn’s finally looking at him then, a pleading fear in his eyes that seems to will some sort of inevitable rejection. “I was going to _leave_ you. All of you. If she hadn’t stopped me, I was going to abandon all of you to die.”

But Poe’s not having it. He shakes his head. “Finn, you had just woken up from bacta-sleep. Remember, I _saw_ you. You missed ten days, because for you it was like they never happened. Your mind was still on Starkiller. Of course you weren’t thinking straight.”

Finn huffs, and shoulders hunch down in defeat. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Buddy, as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to forgive,” he says, and before Finn can so much as open his mouth to rebut him, he continues, “And if you really wanna start blaming people, I should be the first one you pick, because that was _my_ squadron out there that was supposed to protect us. And I got all of them killed,” he says, because two can play at that game of guilt. God knows, over the last 20 something hours he’s been steeping in it.

Finn starts, surprised to hear him talk so sourly about himself. “Poe, no, you _saved_ us—” 

“Well I helped a bit, too, don’t you think?” a teasing voice suddenly interrupts, and it’s Rey. 

Finn’s face reflexively breaks out into a beaming smile. “ _Yeah_ , you did.”

Poe’s heart clenches at the display of unchecked love, marvelling at how easy such feeling flows from Finn to those around him. The gleaming generosity of both Finn’s affection and smile is as bright as a sun, and Poe would gladly orbit it for millennia.

“Fancy bit of flying there, too, gotta say,” Poe compliments, and smiles in kind, for Finn’s quick shift in mood is immediately infectious.

“It may be old, but this ship is a dream,” Rey grins as she pats the bulkhead.

Now _there’s_ someone talking Poe’s native language. “I used to hear stories about this ship from my mom,” he agrees. “She flew alongside it in the rebellion, and man,” Poe bites his lip, giddy with barely contained awe, peering around the space with glee, “the things she said this bird could do.”

“Your mother was a rebel pilot, too?” Rey asks, suddenly curious. Poe can see why her and Finn were such fast friends, they were so similar. Poe instantly likes her.

“Yeah, she knew the General and her brother back then and everything, same as my dad. I might get demoted again for sharing some of the shit they told me about,” Poe grins, “but I promise it was all relayed with reverence.”

Rey’s eyes light up with interest at the mention of his parents. “Are they here, are they with the Resistance?”

Poe’s smile tightens. “No,” he says, but _stars_ does he wish they were sometimes, despite his need to see what remains of his family safe. “My dad’s back home cursing his bad knees, and my mom… She died when I was a kid.” 

“Oh,” Rey retracts, kind voice full of regret. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says, waving his hand and trying to sound unaffected. It’s _not_ fine, really. It never was and never will be, but it’s something Poe’s lived with for a long time now, and he’s trying hard not to hold it against the universe for taking her so soon.

“I never… really knew my parents,” Rey then admits, gaze dropping, and Poe’s heart goes out to her, truly. He knows he was lucky, at least, to have his dad still, to have a home.

“Me neither,” Finn shrugs, and he says it like it’s just a normal observation about life. Poe knows it’s Finn’s prerogative to be as casual as he wants about his own upbringing—Poe can’t contextualise that for him—but it makes him so _mad_ that he never even got a chance to know what he was missing. Here they are, three children of the New Republic, and all of them with scars on their childhood that just kept mounting as they grew up _._

 _It shouldn’t be like this_ , Poe thinks, furious. When the Empire fell, they were supposed to know peace. They were supposed to be able to live _free_ of destruction and fear. But nothing really changed in the character of the galaxy, did it? That’s how the First Order was able to rise to prominence so quickly, that’s how the New Republic was so weak in the face of it. Greed and cruelty kept spreading like a cancer, festering in the dark.

No more families should have to be broken, Poe thinks. No more should have to suffer. They have to _stop this_.

It’s then that a thought occurs to him. He turns to consider Finn. “You ever thought about trying to find records on were you came from? Did the First Order keep data on that sort of thing?” he asks, silently hoping he doesn’t sound too obnoxiously prying.

“What they stole, you mean,” Rey snarls under her breath, and Poe hums in solidarity.

“The First Order keeps records of everything,” Finn nods with a resigned sort of wisdom. “So probably, but… it would be hard to find. Obviously they wouldn’t want to risk any of their cadets being able to just look it up whenever they wanted.”

That’s true, Poe has to mentally concede, and in any case, if they ever had access to such databases, this kind of information would be pretty low on the Resistance’s interest list.

 _But maybe it shouldn’t be_ , he thinks.

“If they targeted specific quadrants for their recruitment,” he muses aloud, “which they must have back in the day—they wouldn’t want to raise suspicion in the core worlds at all—there’d definitely be planets and communities who still remember those thefts. Who still feel that loss.”

“Unless they covered their tracks well enough. Maybe they made sure that the families thought their children had died,” Finn points out with a soberness that exceeds his years. He smiles sadly. “I’ve had a long time to think about this, trust me.”

And Poe is utterly struck for a moment, as he looks upon this young man who’s already seen trauma enough for thirty lifetimes. He’s been stolen from his people and ripped of his rightful heritage, stripped bare of everything that’s supposed to make a person who they are. But yet here he is, utterly unique and so _much_ it’s blinding. He’s had a life that could have been obliterated by the First Order, but who Finn _is_ still survives, and that resilience is what makes Finn so remarkable to Poe: he feels a kindred soul in him as well an enigma. How _did_ such a remarkable man come out of such a corrupt system?

But maybe that’s not the question worth asking. Maybe Poe should be asking himself how did _he_ deserve to know him.

If he doesn’t yet deserve it, Poe will give his all in the endeavour to.

“Even so, it could be worth finding them?” he posits, running with his initial tangent to its natural conclusion. “Telling them their kids might still be alive? If we can expose the First Order for the crimes they did twenty years ago, and then show people what they’re still doing _now_ , that could wake them up.”

They may be the spark that lights the fire, but a fire still needs _fuel_.

“It’s an idea,” a voice says behind them, and all three of them jump at the unexpected arrival of the Resistance’s leader herself.

“General Organa!” Finn exclaims, caught off guard. Poe suspects he’s heard stories about her, too, even in the First Order. Perhaps _especially_ in the First Order. The other handful of times the two had talked, so much had been happening that Poe assumes the realisation hadn’t exactly sunk in for Finn that this was the legendary _Leia Organa_. It’s certainly starting to sink in now.

Poe’s known the General long enough for the novelty of her acquaintance to have worn off, but he still stands a bit straighter on instinct. Part of the reflex is his academy training kicking in, but it’s also that unique brand of respect the General automatically inspires by her very presence.

She lays a hand on his shoulder and he tenses for second, surprised at the contact, until she says, “At ease, Poe,” and he obeys.

“General,” he nods in greeting.

She smiles at Finn and Rey in acknowledgement, but her message is clearly for Poe. “I just wanted to let you know,” she says, voice loud enough for Finn and Rey to hear, but not so resonant that an eavesdropper would be in luck, “we’ve made contact with our ally in the Death Winds. He’s got a place for us to refuel before we move on to the Reach.”

She doesn’t name names, and Poe doesn’t actually know who this ally is, beyond the code name the General had relayed to him earlier. But that’s the nature of this business, and Poe trusts her now more than ever. He _needs_ to, especially when he doesn’t quite know whether to trust himself.

Still, old habits die hard. “And he’s sure—”

The General cuts him off. “I trust him, Poe,” she assures him, with a tone that indicates that will be the final word on the matter.

She knows him too well, Poe thinks, and if he’s honest, it’s a comfort to him. Practically speaking he knows it’s good to be kept in check, but a far more primitive part of him yearns to be that familiar to people. To be _known_. It’s not just the similarities he sees between her and what he remembers of his mother, but growing up on an isolated moon, he always wanted to be part of a big family, and maybe that’s exactly what this little Resistance has become.

“You need me on helm, then?” he offers. He needs the distraction, if he’s honest, or else he’s liable to fall asleep on his feet staring into Finn’s wide, beautiful brown eyes.

“Chewie’s got it covered, I think,” she assures him. She then steps back to incorporate Finn and Rey back into their circle. “You should rest. All of you.”

Poe’s body heartily agrees, but he’s also not so surrendered to his own exhaustion that he can’t observe how tired Leia, too, also seems. Of course she would be, after everything that’s happened, after finding her brother and losing him. After nearly dying in the vacuum of space. God, even just after dealing with Poe all day. “So should you, General,” he says, even if it’s seen as insubordination.

But Leia just smiles. It’s small but it’s there, warm and inviting, and yet also ever mysterious, like she always knows something Poe doesn’t. (Which, really, she _does_.)

“And maybe I will do just that, Dameron,” she agrees, surprising him. Then the smile turns into a smirk. “Lead by example, you should try it.”

And before Poe can offer a rejoinder, she’s off down the corridor, and disappears around the corner.

Leia never misses the opportunity to make a great exit, and Poe loves her dearly for it.

Poe glances back to Finn and Rey, brow raised in question to see who will beg off their post first. Both of them deserve to get some sleep, and Poe’s prepared to stay up with Rose if it means Finn will get to relax a bit, as much as that’s possible in their battered states; relaxing isn’t exactly the same as collapsing from an inability to keep your eyes open.

But Rey beats him to the punch. “I’ll stay with Rose, if it’s all the same to you boys,” she says, and Poe’s instantly awash in gratefulness.

Of course, Finn puts up the expected protest, but Rey is fast on top of that, too.

“You really do need to sleep, my friend,” she says, touching him gently on the arm, squeezing in reassurance. “I’ll be here if she wakes up, I promise.”

“What about you?” Finn counters. They’re all a bunch of self-sacrificing idiots.

“I’m going to try… meditating, I think,” Rey says, glancing down at Rose thoughtfully. Poe can see tension in the squareness of her shoulders as it creeps up into the lines of her brow. He truly has no idea what the last two days has looked like on her end, from going to the edges of the known galaxy and back to save them all, but if it was anything like the up and down terror of their front, he has endless sympathy for her need to take a moment to learn to breathe again. 

“But—” Finn offers one last feeble protest, but the tiredness is creeping up on him too. Poe can tell he’s already conceded.

Poe slaps a friendly hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Forget it, Finn, there’s no arguing with a Jedi who’s made their mind up,” he says, winking at Rey. “I’ll make sure he sleeps.”

Finn looks between his two friends with exaggerated disbelief. “You’re ganging on me,” he balks. “I regret wishing you would meet.”

Poe chuckles and begins to lead them away. He slides his hand on Finn’s shoulder down to his lower back, saying “Come on, pal, let’s find a corner that doesn’t have a porg nest in it yet,” before he realises the casual intimacy of the gesture. Poe can feel his cheeks heat up on reflex as he lets his hand drop away as they turn the corner.

Finn, however, doesn’t seem to have noticed. “Does that mean we’re making a nest in it instead?” he jokes, as Poe directs them to the common area. People will already have claimed the best places to roll out a make-shift bed, but half an hour ago when he’d checked in, he’d still spotted some space off in a cluttered corner.

He blinks, distracted. “I, uh—”

“I’m joking. I don’t think you’re secretly a bird alien,” Finn assures him, smiling. A certain languid lilt to his voice betrays the levity as a symptom of exhaustion. “Unless you _are_ secretly a bird alien? You do fly suspiciously well.”

“Alright, bad joke time is definitely an indication of an over-tired hero,” he says, letting his voice drop to a whisper as they cross into the common. The still bodies scattered around them on the floor indicate most people are already fast asleep, but Poe would prefer not to be the asshole that wakes them.

“My jokes are awesome,” Finn says at full volume, before he stumbles and almost trips over the sleeping form of Connix. He gathers himself quickly, as he follows Poe to the back of the room where pokey boxes of spare and broken parts for the _Falcon_ have seemingly made the space undesirable for sleeping. Poe doesn’t mind, however, as he’s used to having to sleep at awkward angles during the course of a mission. Finn doesn’t seem to care either, as he slides down to the floor alongside Poe. There isn’t really enough space for them both to lie down fully, but they can stretch their legs out, if they sit up against the wall side by side.

“I might be biased over you, buddy, but they do need some work,” Poe whispers, trying to distract himself from the close quarters. Part of him is absolutely delighted at being able to be so close to Finn when neither are on the precipice of death, but a more pragmatic part of him knows the closeness will make actually _falling asleep_ really… hard.

“ _You_ need some work,” Finn mumbles back, but his face is relaxed. He shifts in his seat to get comfy, and his side ends up pressed close to Poe’s own.  

Poe takes a deep breath. “Can’t argue that either.”

 

 

***

 

 

There’s maybe ten minutes of awkward silence as both of them attempt to sleep and inevitably fail. Too much has happened too quickly, and Poe’s brain is still spinning with trying to calculate how all of it fits together. Poe closes his eyes and can see the lights of the Dreadnaught flash behind them, every explosion hailing a loss of his squadron. The bombs fell where they needed to that day, but so did his claim on absolute righteousness. 

“I’m sorry I lost the jacket,” Finn says suddenly, jolting Poe out of his self-flagellation by inviting him into Finn’s own. Stars, aren’t they a pair.

“It’s fine,” Poe whispers back, eyes still closed. He will admit his sewing and stapling job hadn’t been the tidiest. His grandfather would have rightfully tutted at him. “It’d seen its best days anyway.”

“It’s yours, though—”

“Hey, I gave it to you, remember?” Poe cuts him off, trying to keep his voice quiet despite the insistency of his tone. “It was yours. Think of it as a housewarming gift to welcome you to the Resistance.”

There’s an empty beat that forces Poe to open his eyes. He turns his head slightly to find Finn is looking at him strangely. “What?”

His expression is inscrutable in the dark, but there is a curious light in his eyes that pulls Poe in. It’s been pulling at him since the moment Finn took his helmet off on the _Finalizer._

“It wasn’t the first gift you gave me, though,” Finn states, as if that should be obvious.

Poe starts, memory scrambling for something he might’ve forgotten amidst the chaos of the last month. “Wha—”

“ _’Finn’_ , remember?” he says simply, though nothing about the way Poe feels right now is simple. His lips curve into a small smile, and Poe’s gaze is drawn in by their hypnotic shape. “You gave me my name.”

“Oh,” Poe blinks. He supposes that’s technically true, but he’s fallen into such a sense of familiarity with the name it feels as if it’s always been there. Finn is _Finn_. It just makes sense that way.

The syllable sits in his mouth so comfortably, so easily with its short but exciting rhythm. Poe doesn’t even remember why the name occurred to him when he heard letters _FN_ : he’s never known anyone named Finn, nor heard about someone named Finn second hand. It just rolled off his tongue like it was the will of the Force itself, and for all Poe knows it _was_.

But as enthusiastically he’d embraced Finn as his friend’s new name, he also has to swallow back a bit of guilt. Maybe Finn wanted to be able to name _himself_. “You know you can change it, if you want,” he says quickly, but with an urgent sincerity. “It’s your choice now, those fascist bastards can’t decide anything for you anymore.”

But Finn shakes his head. “I like Finn,” he says, and the small smile breaks into a wide grin. “It suits me.”

Poe’s breath almost catches in his throat. He’s so, _so_ far gone it’s ridiculous. _He’s_ ridiculous. But Finn’s radiance is irresistible and Poe’s nothing if not a reckless pilot who’s happy to dive right into the flames. 

“It really does,” he can’t help but agree.

They share a communal silence, and Poe can feel himself sway deeper into Finn’s orbit as his self-control falters.

It’s been such a long day, and indeed such a long _year_. Until a few weeks ago, he’d been at the end of his patience with the universe. It’s not like he’s necessarily _ever_ been a very patient person (too passionate, his mom might have said; too dangerous, a painful but ultimately valid point made by Holdo), but he had been an officer of the New Republic Navy: he’d been trained to keep a certain _veneer_ of chill, at least. But it’s almost like being captured and tortured and endlessly shot at starts to weigh on a person. It’s almost like being constantly put on the edge of death and then also accidentally cause the death of dozens, perhaps _hundreds_ of others also starts to shake one apart at the edges like a broken down Y-Wing barreling down towards a certain explosive demise.

It’s been such a long day, and Poe is tired. He’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want to soak up Finn’s warmth and wrap himself in it.

“You know, we survive all this… I’ll show you my planet one day,” he says, surprising himself with his own honesty.

He’d only thought about it once before, during a brief moment at Finn’s bedside on D’Qar, when he was indulging himself in a bit of wistfulness to stave off having to go back to work on checking over his flight logs. Poe’s been to many planets his thirty-two years of existence, some that defy description in the strangeness of their landscapes. He’s been to moons that were desert prisons and ones that were pure water, but still nothing is quite as amazing to him as when he makes his familiar descent upon Yavin over its rising mountains and jungles, and the mists part to reveal a quaint ranch with overgrown grass surrounding it.

He pictures himself leading Finn through the old Rebellions bases, holding his hand as he giddily points out the old tech and abandoned flyers accumulating dust. He pictures himself introducing Finn to his dad, and Kes Dameron giving his son a knowing look that makes Poe blush. He pictures something akin to _normalcy_ , and that’s how he knows it’s nothing but a dream.

Still, it’d be nice.

“Yeah? What’s it like?” Finn asks.

“Nothing like Jakku, don’t worry,” Poe quips to give him an out, but he knows Finn’s interest is also genuine. It deserves a bit of sincerity in return, as revealing as that might be. “It’s _green_ ,” he says, trying to find the words to do it justice. “Endless forests, with birds of every colour you can think of. It’s… Mountains and clouds and _sky_.”

It might also be their last hope, come to think of it, if every other old Rebellion base is compromised. Poe would be anxious to bring danger so close to his father, so close to people he grew up with and loves, but it’s an idea he’ll mull over tomorrow with the General. She would know its actual usefulness more than any of them.

“No wonder you like to fly,” Finn comments, and Poe can’t help but crack a smile. It’s nice to talk about something for once that isn’t about their next mission or counting their losses or keeping secrets. But who is he kidding, talking with Finn is _always_ nice, even if everything is going up in flames around them.

“My dad still has my mom’s old A-Wing at our ranch, you gotta see her,” Poe tells him, trying to keep his voice down despite the excitement that rises in his chest. Stars, _imagine_ getting to show Finn that ship. “I grew up inside that thing.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Finn says, meaning absolutely every word. But it’s Finn’s sincere wonder that has Poe suddenly coming down again from his brief nostalgic high.

“It wasn’t half bad,” he admits wistfully, but reigns in the memories of childhood happiness for the sake of the loss of Finn’s own. “I’m sorry you never got that.”

Finn sighs. “I had it better than others. Until I didn’t, I obeyed. Obedience bought what you needed to survive,” he explains, “or thrive, even.”

“That’s no way for a kid to live. That’s no way for _anyone_ to live.”

“I know. But…” Finn shakes his head. He smiles ruefully. “I don’t know, it’s too much to feel jealous of what I missed out on in the past, on top of everything else. Maybe we win this and I can feel bad about it, get angry. I _should_ be angry, and… I _am_ ,” he says, forehead creased in consideration. “In the back of my heart somewhere, there’s this… _resentment_ that’s so hot I don’t know what to do with it. And I know it’s not going to help except to prove to me that the First Order is bad, which I already know _really well_. So I just gotta… push past it, I guess, until we win the time where I don’t have to,” he concludes, and Poe is frankly overcome with respect for how reasoned and wise his thinking is. Finn would be entirely within his rights to lash out and take revenge as best and fast he could. He’s not burying the past, he’s just choosing to _build_ on it instead.

Poe can’t help but stare, for he’s completely taken by the man in front of him in every way, down to every new surprise, every crease around his eyes when he smiles.

“What?” Finn asks, worried he might have said something wrong, but _oh,_ how it’s the opposite.

“Nothing,” Poe says, shaking his head with a small smile. “I’m just happy I met you.”

Finn raises an amused eyebrow. “Even though were both constantly almost dying?”

“ _Especially_ then.”

Finn peers around at the darkened room. Thankfully they haven’t disturbed anyone yet, and that’s truly a testament to how much everyone has been through. The whole remaining crew could probably do with sleeping in for a week straight. Poe indeed feels himself starting to finally nod off, but perhaps that’s also due to the warm presence of Finn at his side.

“You know, Rose… she said something like that, after she saved me,” Finn says after a moment. “After she crashed. She said… it’s not about fighting against what we hate. It’s about fighting for what we love,” he recalls, and then pauses to frown, as if trying to parse something complicated out. “And then she kissed me,” he says, and blinks in curiosity at how the words sound out loud.

 _Mmm, I can relate_ , Poe thinks on instinct. He’s really too tired to bother feeling jealous, and Finn’s lips _are_ so tempting. His own eyes flick down, and then back up.

But Poe can’t contemplate his gayest fantasies for too long, however, for then Finn says, “I’ve never been kissed before,” and Poe’s mind grinds to a skittering halt.

“ _What?_ Never?”

It’s not that Poe would ever shame anyone for abstaining from humanities messier pursuits, but Finn’s whole face is just so ridiculously _kissable_ to Poe it hadn’t occurred to him no one ever had.

“Fraternising like that wasn’t permitted among cadets,” he says, as if repeating a line often impressed upon him by his superiors. “Some still did, of course, but… I wasn’t a rule breaker.”

“Until you were,” Poe points out, and yeah, his heart is racing a little faster now, his voice ringing out a little louder despite himself.

Finn chuckles. “Until I was.”

“So what’s the verdict?” Poe tries to ask sounding innocent. “Good, bad—?”

Finn pauses to think, and Poe becomes quickly distracted by the angle of his jaw set in concentration. “Good, I think,” he determines finally. “But it was so fast, and it wasn’t…” Finn blushes.

“Wasn’t what?” Poe tries his best not to sounded so foolishly hopeful.

“It was a friend thing, I think. Not like, you know,” Finn leans in, and lowers his voice to a barely there whisper, “ _intimate_.”

Well, the distance between them now is certainly that.

“Romantic?” Poe supplies, his mouth getting dry. He’s pretty sure the _Falcon_ ’s environmental systems are in working order, but he puts in a mental note to check on its ventilation later, because _man,_ is the air getting thick in here real fast.

Unaware of Poe’s inner turmoil, Finn continues, “Yeah. I mean, it couldn’t be, we’ve only known each other for a day.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” Poe starts to say before his brain can fully catch up with his _other_ organs, “I would have kissed you after knowing you for a day.”

Finn freezes, and so does Poe’s entire being, body and soul and all. Shit.

“What?”

Damage control isn’t Poe’s best strength, but he can usually talk his way out of anything. “Sucks that we crash landed on Jakku though, kinda fucked up my game,” he blabs on, which maybe is incriminating him even more, but is hopefully also distracting Finn from the embarrassing admission that had just spilled from Poe’s mutinous mouth.

“I’m sorry, are you saying you want to kiss me?”

Well, there’s that hope shot. 

“Maybe I am,” Poe swallows thickly, and tries to steal himself for the inevitable rejection. 

Finn, however, just continues to stare at him. “Romantically?”

“Intimately, even,” Poe quips, despite himself.

It’s then that Finn’s face softens. “Poe,” he begins, and Poe can just _feel_ he’s preparing to let Poe down gently. Finn is kind, he’s a good guy. He doesn’t want to hurt Poe’s feelings, and part of Poe is grateful for that. The other part is absolutely horrified and floundering in romantic anguish.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he covers quickly, “I just… I’m putting that out there. If you wanna get a second sample of what it’s like, I’m here. Any time.”

There. That’s an honourable way to cut one’s losses, right? He’s prepared to wait. He’s not a patient person, but he can be patient for this, for Finn.

But Finn is always surprising him. “I’m not doing anything right now,” he says, and it occurs to Poe then that Finn is as anxious as he is.

 _Of course he is,_ he admonishes himself. He’s never done this before and Poe has and even _Poe’s_ awful at it. He can flirt with the best of them, but when shit gets real his palms get sweaty and he loses control of the stick, spinning out like an unbalanced X-Wing. He likes kissing. He’s very good at kissing, he likes to tell himself, but when that kissing is belied with genuine and sincere _feelings_ of immense and precious value, then it’s another matter entirely. It’s different when it’s Finn, because it’s _Finn_.

Poe tries to keep his voice steady. “You’re supposed to be sleeping right now,” he says, offering both of them a chance to forget any of this ever happened.

But Finn is brave and ready and _there_ , leaning in closer, whispering with a crooked half smile, “So are you."

“Fair,” Poe whispers back, and, well, Leia _did_ tell him to lead by example.

And so he kisses him.

Poe kisses him and Finn _kisses back_ , and his lips are just as soft as Poe had imagined. They’re gentle and welcoming and Poe breathes him in with an unrepressed smile. He raises his hand to his cheek, cupping his face like he’s wanted to since the day they met. Finn’s own hand comes up to clutch at Poe’s jacket where it hangs open close to his collar, close to the chain with his mother’s ring that hangs there like his own binary beacon, always calling him home.

The thrill is nothing like flying. Flying Poe _knows_ , he knows it inside and out. But _this_ , this is _new_ and exciting and something wholly its own and Poe chases it with all the reckless abandon of his stubborn heart.

They break the kiss but stay close like that, foreheads pressed together. It wasn’t a heavy kiss by any means, but Poe can feel their chests are both falling heavier. 

“How was that, then?” he breathes, still smiling. He lets his thumb stroke across Finn’s cheek, and the skin is warm. Poe’s afraid he might never want to let go.

Finn huffs in quiet amusement, and sways further in so that their noses nudge at each other. Even in this bad light, Poe can still see the deep colour of Finn’s eyes, and the bright spark of the soul behind them. “I think I’m gonna need to try that again,” Finn says by way of his answer, and Poe has never been happier to oblige a request in his life.

The fate of the galaxy might be hanging on by a thread, but you know what? Poe’s good at sewing, and Finn’s good at almost everything, and together, Poe thinks they can stitch something together.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [twitter](twitter.com/clockworkrobots) and [tumblr](http://dirtyovercoats.com/)!


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